Through the Keyhole
by sebastienne
Summary: Harry & Snape . . . indirectly . . . teach Hermione a thing or two. then Draco gets involved. slash 'warning'. i should take this down really, it's completely reprehensible . . . but i'm a sucker for reviews . . .
1. through the keyhole

It was late.  
  
Hermione was sitting alone in the Gryffindor common room, finishing a piece of work for Muggle Studies. She was not about to slack in her studies, what with her NEWTs so close and all. She finally finished, and with a sigh of satisfaction packed up her things and began for the girls' dormitories.  
  
Just as she had begun to ascend the stairs, she heard a sound behind her. Instinctively, she hid herself in the shadows and waited to see if there was anyone there, or if it was just her paranoia. Her breathing slowed, but this disguised her sense of panic . . . and interest. Who could be creeping around the common room at two in the morning?  
  
As Hermione looked on, she saw Harry creeping across the common room. She couldn't imagine where he was going at this time of night, but assumed it was part of yet another venture on his part to save the wizarding world from the threat of some evil or other . . . ventures which he had never been arrogant enough to leave her out of until now. He threw his father's invisibility cloak over himself as he approached the portrait door.  
  
Hermione resolved to follow Harry.  
  
She stayed still and silent until she heard the portrait of the fat lady click shut behind him. Then she crept out of the Gryffindor common room, and turned right, following Harry's almost inaudible footsteps.  
  
She followed him as he descended staircase after staircase. Eventually she decided that he could be leading her nowhere, this deep inside the castle, except the dungeons.  
  
Harry's inconspicuous footsteps walked down the dingy corridor, and through the potions classroom to an area Hermione had only visited once before - Professor Snape's private potions stock. Harry tiptoed past this, and continued to the back of the room. Hermione knew what was to be found at the end of this particular classroom - Professor Snape's rooms!  
  
The door to Snape's study was half-open. Harry entered quietly, and after a while Hermione ventured to peek inside. The room was empty! She walked in, and, at the closed door leading to what she could only assume must be Snape's bedroom, kneeled: and put her eye to the keyhole.  
  
Hermione only just managed to restrain herself from gasping in astonishment, when she saw Harry with his fingers entangled in his potions master's hair, holding his head in a passionate kiss. Snape's hands were gripping Harry's shoulders tightly - it was impossible to tell if he was pulling the seventeen-year-old closer, or pushing him away. It seemed, at least to Hermione, that Snape himself did not know which of the two actions he was performing.  
  
Hermione mentally shook herself as she realised just how aroused she was becoming. She berated herself - she felt she should be disgusted, no turned on. But still her heart raced in her chest and her breathing became shallow.  
  
Hermione was shocked to see how forceful Harry was being as he pushed Snape back onto the great four poster bed and began to unbutton the older man's robes. As Hermione looked on, she began to feel a throbbing sensation down below. She was not stupid, she knew exactly what was going on . . . but what she could not understand was why what she was seeing had such an effect on her.  
  
Snape suddenly pushed harry off him, and scampered backwards up the bed with a worried expression on his face. He sat up, pushing his back into the headboard as if he afraid of Harry. He whispered something, which was too quiet for Hermione to hear, but which seemed like a half-hearted attempt to scold Harry and get him to return to his dormitory.  
  
Harry laughed, carelessly loud, evoking a panicked look from Snape, and began to unbutton his own robes.  
  
'Harry, we can't, I can't . . .'  
  
'But you want to, don't you.'  
  
Not a question - a statement.  
  
'That doesn't mean I CAN! I have . . . responsibilities . . . duties . . .'  
  
'None of which forbid you enjoying yourself, I'm sure'. Said harry, as he began to unbutton his own robes.  
  
'Harry, please!' Snape practically shouted. And then, realising how panicked he had sounded, purposely slowed and softened his tone to say 'Please return to your dormitory.'  
  
Harry ignored the command of his potion's master, and continued to unbutton his outer robe.  
  
Hermione had, of course, been aware of Harry's growing up greatly over the six years she had known him . . .but as he shrugged off his outer robe to reveal that he was, in fact, naked underneath, she began to appreciate quite how much he had grown.  
  
His shoulders and arms were still slim and feminine, but his chest and torso were beautifully toned.  
  
Harry dropped his robe to the floor, and looked at Snape with a predatory gleam in his eyes. He began to walk slowly around the side of the bed. The look on Snape's face was a mixture of begging Harry to leave him alone . . . and begging him to come closer.  
  
Harry knelt on the bed and, pulling Snape's face towards him with a cupped hand, kissed him hard.  
  
Snape pulled away - partly to show dissent and partly to get another look at Harry's body, but Harry just pushed him down onto the bed and began to kiss his neck, gently at first, but the with more and more little teasing bites.  
  
Then Harry began to kiss Snape's chest, going down slowly and unbuttoning his robes as he went. He hovered over Snape's navel, licking, nibbling, tickling, teasing . . .  
  
And still he went down.  
  
Hermione was very excited now, both from what she was seeing and from the knowledge of formidable consequences if she were caught.  
  
She began to feel hot, and tingled all over. She started to unbutton her own robes as she watched Snape's back arch with a gasp of pleasure.  
  
She heard him breathing shallowly and moaning, quietly at first but crescendoing rapidly.  
  
However, she did not see what was causing such ecstasies.  
  
Hermione had fallen away from the keyhole, and lay on the cold, stone floor of Snape's study, discovering that some things are just intrinsically better than they can ever be described in books. 


	2. draco's plan

* * * Flashback * * *  
  
Draco Malfoy was bored.  
  
Now, it was not often that Draco Malfoy was bored.  
  
He had always had plenty to . . . entertain him.  
  
But Professor Snape had put him - him, Draco Malfoy! - in a detention, for adding ingredients to Ron's potion in a mock NEWT which caused it to explode in his face and give him purple boils which, Madame Pomfrey said, would take several weeks to heal.  
  
Now he was sitting in the cold potions classroom, dissecting flobberworm spleens for tomorrow's third years' lesson.  
  
Snape would not allow him to use magic for this - he found himself degraded by doing it the muggle way, unskilled as he was with the scalpel that kept nicking the ends of his fingers.  
  
Draco had been doing this for about twenty minutes when Minerva McGonagall appeared in the doorway, a suitably chastising expression on her face.  
  
'Severus, had you completely forgotten? The meeting . . .'  
  
Professor Snape remembered that he was, indeed, meant to have been in a staff meeting twenty-five minutes ago.  
  
He rose quickly from behind his desk, turning to Draco, and with a swish of his cloak said:  
  
'You will remain here until I return. When you have finished dissecting flobberworm spleens,' - he picked up some polish and a rag from behind his desk - 'you will clean the cauldron.'  
  
As Draco looked at the huge cauldron that Professor Snape used for the more dangerous displays of the potential of some potions, Snape hurried out of the classroom, cloak flowing behind him.  
  
Draco soon finished the flobberworm spleens, and decided that, as Snape had not distinctly said that he was to clean the cauldron by muggle means, he would not do so.  
  
He muttered something under his breath in a bored, distracted fashion, and flicked his wand at the cauldron.  
  
It gleamed in the candlelight - good as new.  
  
Draco was feeling very rebellious at that moment in time, against Professor Snape particularly, but also against a school system which never allowed him to have any fun.  
  
Draco's eye was caught by the door to Snape's study - it was slightly ajar. Snape had rushed out of the classroom without thinking of locking it.  
  
He sauntered over, slowly, ready to look very innocent all of a sudden if anyone were to appear in the doorway.  
  
But no one came. No footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor outside.  
  
Draco entered the study.  
  
He had been in here before, of course, but never alone.  
  
His eyes roamed over all the shelves, and were caught by a slim volume, almost invisible crammed between a huge potions manual and the wall.  
  
It was far out of Draco's reach, but he pulled his wand out of his pocket and called the book to him with a flick of his wrist.  
  
He looked at the cover. 'Most Potente Potions of Passion', it read.  
  
He flicked through the book. Why did Snape have this?  
  
It was just the same old love potions, far much more effort than they are worth, and with an annoying tendency to wear off just when they are bearing fruit.  
  
Draco noticed one potion that seemed a little different from the rest. 'Boundless Lust' it promised. A slightly more promising proclamation than 'Endless Love', thought Draco. Perhaps love just wasn't something you could control with potions and spells.  
  
But lust, on the other hand. . .  
  
Draco read the recipe carefully. It called for many things he had never used, only heard of in theory classes. It truly was a most potente potion.  
  
It required a piece of the DNA of someone - the person to whom it was administered would feel desperate lust for whoever it was who had been included in the potion. This lust would last, ever increasing, until the victim of the potion was satisfied by the target of the lust.  
  
Draco began to formulate a plan to get back at Professor Snape for this humiliating punishment.  
  
Draco went to Snape's private potions ingredients cupboard, and took everything he needed for this concoction.  
  
The potion was surprisingly easy to put together.  
  
Draco assumed that any potion so easy to create and with such potent an effect must have grave side effects, else why would it not be in everyday use?  
  
But the side effects, Draco felt, would only add greatly to his enjoyment.  
  
Finally, he needed to add the DNA of his victim. This was surprisingly easy - after all, Snape's bedroom was through a door behind his study desk.  
  
Draco took a hair from Snape's hairbrush (yes, although greasy, Snape's hair was surprisingly untangled) and added it to the potion.  
  
The potion went from a sludgy green soup, which Draco felt he was going to have trouble administering to anybody, to a clear, effervescent liquid. It looked like lemonade!  
  
He decanted the potion into one of the little glass phials stacked neatly in one corner of the classroom, and used magic to clean the small beaker he had borrowed to mix the potion in.  
  
He did all this just in time, as it happened, because that very minute Professor Snape returned from his meeting.  
  
He looked tired and distracted, dismissing Draco with a wave of his had, saying 'Go, Malfoy, you'll be late for dinner'.  
  
Draco walked off to dinner, looking as cold and distant he always did, but hugging himself inside, in the knowledge that his use of magical cleaning methods and reckless use of potent magics had gone unnoticed.  
  
He sat at the Slytherin table, laughing with Crabbe and Goyle about Snape's foolishness in giving him, Draco Malfoy, a detention.  
  
He told them nothing, however, of his plans for revenge.  
  
As they left the hall, Draco broke away from his cronies and headed towards the Gryffindor table.  
  
He stood next to Harry, opposite Ron, who still had a tinge of purple around his hairline, and a pinkish-looking boil on his chin.  
  
'P-Professor Snape said I should c-come and apologise to you,' he said.  
  
He paused, looking around, and seeing all eyes on him.  
  
Apologising was not something that came easily to Draco Malfoy, even under duress . . . and apologising in a situation like this, when no-one had asked or expected him to, was even harder.  
  
Apologising to a Weasley was one of the hardest things Draco had ever done, it went so much against his nature, but he felt that, for this spectacle, it would be worth it.  
  
'Well . . .?' said Ron, awaiting Malfoy's apology with a sense of disbelief.  
  
'I'msorryImessedupyourexperiment,' he mumbled.  
  
'Sorry, Malfoy, didn't quite catch that . . .'  
  
'I'm sorry that I messed up your experiment and gave you purple boils.'  
  
As every Gryffindor exchanged amused looks and guarded giggles, and as Harry and Ron smirked at each other, Draco took advantage of their distraction to pour his potion into Harry's pumpkin juice.  
  
Draco blushed, a strange, foreign flushing in his incessantly white cheeks, and swiftly walked off to his common room. 


	3. draco has yet another plan

Had Crabbe and Goyle had more than one brain cell between them, they would have noticed Draco's altered disposition that night. But they had not, and so they did not.  
  
Draco was distracted, his mind somewhere else entirely. He was imagining scenes in which he shamed Snape and Potter in one action. In which Snape was hideously embarrassed and Potter could never again act the innocent victim in front of all his Gryffindor friends.  
  
He would prove that Harry Potter was no idealised hero.  
  
How he hated Harry.  
  
As a Malfoy, he should be the celebrity in his year. He should inspire awe in everyone - 'there he is,' they would all say as he walked past, 'Lucius Malfoy's son. Lucius Malfoy, the greatest dark wizard since Voldemort himself.'  
  
If it wasn't for Harry, that is how it would be.  
  
Draco's father had told him so.  
  
Draco admitted it to himself quite freely - this plan only revenged himself on Snape as a fortuitous stroke of luck. Its real purpose, as with most things Draco did, was to get to Harry Potter.  
  
That one evening was as long as an ice age for Draco, but eventually they all retired to their dormitories.  
  
Draco waited until he heard the unmistakable snores of his roommates, and then rose. He wrapped himself in a heavy, black cloak, and stealthily crept towards the door.  
  
As the Slytherin portrait swung shut behind him, a shudder of excitement went through him. This was different to all the other mischief he and his friends got up to. This was the most macabre, the most serious, the most devious, the most FUN.  
  
He waited in the shadows outside the Gryffindor common room for what felt like an age. He had not realised that Gryffindors went to bed so late!  
  
He began to doubt . . . had Harry ever come back to his common room? Was there another exit? Had the potion not worked?  
  
But in his heart, Draco knew that this was the perfect plan. No paranoia could puncture his self-belief.  
  
And he was proved right, as the Gryffindor portrait swung open . . . and then swung shut again. It seemed that no-one had emerged.  
  
Draco listened intently, and thought he could just make out footsteps going along the hall.  
  
Invisibility? This Potter boy was cleverer than he had given him credit for.  
  
Draco was just about to follow when he saw the portrait door swing open again.  
  
He watched as Hermione Granger stepped out into the corridor and, with a furtive glance around her, began to follow Harry.  
  
Draco left it a little longer, to ensure that no-one else would be coming out of the common room - and then he began to follow Hermione.  
  
It was no surprise to Draco that they went down and down until they reached the dungeons.  
  
Draco watched as Hermione entered the dark classroom. He waited a little while before daring to glimpse around the half-open door.  
  
Hermione was not there!  
  
Draco entered the classroom, and walked to the study door.  
  
It was open a crack, and through it he could see Hermione, her eye pressed firmly to the keyhole of the bedroom.  
  
He tiptoed to the other side of the same wall, where the wall did not divide the classroom from the study, but the classroom from the bedroom.  
  
He thought that he could just about make out some muffled speech, but he was not sure. The stone was thick and cold.  
  
But just as he was thinking his attempts to eavesdrop were futile, he heard Snape shout 'Harry, please!'  
  
It should have been a chastisement. Snape should have sounded horrified that the prissy Gryffindor was coming on to him, he should have been disgusted.  
  
But what Draco heard in Snape's voice was not disgust or scorn.  
  
It was barely-concealed lust.  
  
Draco was shocked - this was not at all part of his plan.  
  
His plan was that Snape should detest Harry's advances, which would increase in ferocity as the effect of the potion increased, and would have to report it to Dumbledore or somebody in authority. It would be embarrassing for him, yes, but it was Harry who was to pay the price.  
  
Draco quickly adjusted his thoughts to this new piece of information - Snape was attracted to Harry!  
  
He could use this to disgrace them both.  
  
But how to alert the rest of the castle to what was going on?  
  
He couldn't very well go and fetch someone himself; they would ask why he was out of bed.  
  
He found he was desperate to know what was going on in there . . . but no more noise penetrated the thick walls.  
  
He walked and peered round the study door once again . . . and was shocked to see Hermione, who he had labelled as the most straight-laced girl at Hogwarts, lying on the floor of Snape's study.  
  
Her breath was coming in short, violent gasps which she was working hard to keep silent. Her eyes were closed, but beneath her eyelids they flickered wildly in all directions.  
  
Draco laughed inside at the situation he found himself in. It was like something from that trashy fan fiction the Slytherin girls were always writing.  
  
His head filled with ways of using the situation to his advantage . . .if only he could alert someone else at Hogwarts without incriminating himself in the matter!  
  
Just as a self-satisfied grin was crossing his face, Hermione took two deep, heavy breaths and opened her eyes.  
  
She was looking right at him as he peered around the study door.  
  
She stood up hurriedly and began to button her robes, her face blushing even redder than it already was.  
  
Draco marched into the room, trying to look authoritarian and stay completely silent at the same time. As a result, his walking resembled gliding rather than anything else.  
  
Like a fallen angel he grabbed Hermione's arm and pushed her against the wall, his finger to her lips.  
  
The look in his eyes threatened terrible things if she did not keep quiet.  
  
And she did, leaning into the wall as if she wished it could swallow her, watching Draco with wide, scared eyes.  
  
He knelt on the floor and put his eye to the keyhole.  
  
He saw Snape, lying across his bed. Head tilted back, eyes screwed shut, hands gripping the covers, twisting. His mouth was open, and he was moaning.  
  
If Draco had been just a little bit (well, this WAS Draco . . . let's say a LOT) more naïve, he might have thought Snape was in pain.  
  
But Draco was not naïve. Nor was he blind. He saw the messy black head that worked its magic between tensed white thighs.  
  
There was a look on Harry's face that Draco had never imagined possible. He hoped it was just the effect of the potion, but Harry looked positively . . . sexy.  
  
For just a moment, Draco found himself thinking the unthinkable . . . he wanted Harry Potter. Then he remembered himself - this Potter was the cause of everything that was going wrong in his life.  
  
Potter, son of a mudblood mother, famed for destroying his father's master . . . Draco had every reason to hate him.  
  
But, looking through the keyhole, he couldn't help imagining how he would feel in Snape's position. And, he had to admit, he imagined he would feel rather good.  
  
Suddenly he remembered Hermione's presence in the room. He turned, to see her still leaning against the wall.  
  
Her head was spinning and she could not focus her eyes.  
  
Draco stood up, rushed over to Hermione and, grabbing her elbow, ushered her out of the room. He did all this without a sound, but there was no mistaking his intentions.  
  
Hermione was powerless to do anything but obey, and she hurried back to her dormitory, head spinning with conjecture, confusion, and new sensations.  
  
Draco watched her falter as she hurried up the corridor, and laughed mentally.  
  
The he returned eagerly to the keyhole.  
  
Harry was teasing Snape now, kissing now the insides of his thighs, now his stomach, now his hip . . . everywhere but where he wanted to be kissed.  
  
Snape opened his eyes, looked at the seventeen-year-old boy so intent on giving him pleasure. 'Harry, please!' he said. The tone was surprisingly similar to how he had said it before.  
  
Finally Harry gave Snape what he had been begging for.  
  
Draco didn't know whether to feel twisted pity for his potions master's situation; or Iago-esque enjoyment of seeing his plans come to fruition; or triumph over Harry; or amusement.  
  
As it was, he was just feeling very turned on.  
  
He wondered how much it was the potion, and how much natural skill . . . but Harry was fantastic.  
  
From the way he was moving, the things he was doing . . . but mostly by the look on Snape's face . . . Draco could see that this was true.  
  
It was no good, he couldn't lie to himself any more . . . he wanted Harry Potter. In a purely sexual, physical way.  
  
He wanted to make him bleed and cry and scream and writhe in agony. And ecstasy.  
  
He wanted to feel Harry's body squirming under him, rebelling against his touch yet begging him for more.  
  
Draco knew how to make it so that someone hated you with every fibre of their being . . . but still came back for more.  
  
He wanted that for the famous Harry Potter . . . only to a much greater degree.  
  
Draco was sick of all these easy conquests. People knew how evil and generally debauched he was . . . it was common knowledge. He could have had half the school if he'd had wanted.  
  
But all wanted now was Harry Potter.  
  
How about THAT for a challenge?  
  
The heir of Gryffindor and general heterosexual stud. All the stories about Harry and Cho, Harry and Ginny, that Draco had assumed were just idle teenage girl gossip, he began to realise might just be true.  
  
Harry could probably have his pick of any girl in the school.  
  
But Draco had made his mind up.  
  
Harry was going to be his. 


	4. the morning after the night before

Harry sat up in bed. He felt extremely tired and disoriented. He'd not stayed up late doing homework last night – he'd . . . and then he remembered.

Harry slinked his eyes twice, both to force the numbing sleep that was creeping across them, and to make sure he wasn't just remembering a particularly weird dream.

Impossible and inexplicable as it seemed, Harry remembered putting on his invisibility cloak, creeping down to the dungeons, entering professor Snape's Chambers and . . . and . . .

Harry felt dirtier than he had ever felt before in his life. Even that time when Neville's ridiculous plant had squirted him with its stinksap.

But whatever could have possessed him to . . . and Snape, as Harry remembered, he didn't exactly complain when he started to . . .

Just then, Ron bounded over, fully dressed, and shouted in Harry's face. 'Come on sleepy-head! Get up, or you'll miss breakfast!'

Harry groaned and turned over. He knew he had to get up, or the others would realise something was wrong. He staggered out of bed and threw his robes on; trying not to think about whose cold stone floor they had been lying on the night before.

*~*

Sitting at breakfast, Hermione seemed rather distracted. She kept looking at Harry as if she was seeing him for the first time. 'She knows!' thought Harry, immediately chastising himself for his paranoia. Ron kept chattering away about the house Quidditch match against Slytherin later that month, but both Hermione and Harry kept quiet, answering monosyllabically, bent over their bacon and eggs.

Harry found the eating particularly arduous because of a strange and inexplicable ache in his jaw.

In the end, Harry gave in to the impulse that had been bothering him throughout his meal, and turned to look at the staff table.

There sat Professor Snape, as moody and greasy as ever. He was silently devouring a bowl of Coco-Pops (he just loved the way they turned the milk chocolatey). When he saw Harry looking in his direction, however, he held the boy's gaze and brushed his empty spoon suggestively against his lips.

Harry jerked back towards his breakfast, trying to calm his breathing, avoid the blind panic that was threatening to overpower him. That greasy git was making a pass at him! (Harry did have to admit to himself that he might have given his Potions Master . . . well . . . the wrong impression the previous night.)

Hermione had seen the entirety of this exchange, and thought she had a pretty good handle on the situation.

After breakfast, she cornered Harry, and let him know how she felt. 'Harry, I'd just like you to know that I – and I don't think I'm at all alone in this – will love you for who you are, no matter who that is.'

The vaguity of her speech confused Harry – what the hell was she wittering on about now?

'And I know that the Wizarding world is more archaic than the Muggle world in a lot of its rules, but it is very accepting of different ways of life – just look at Dumbledore's brother!'

As the memory of Aberforth Dumbledore – who lived in Wiltshire with a Shetland Pony – seeped into the front of Harry's mind, he realised what Hermione was talking about.

'But I . . . it's not like . . . how do you _know_?'

'I saw you leaving the common room, and I . . . well I followed you.'

'Why didn't you _stop me then?'_

'Well to be honest, Harry . . . you didn't much look like you wanted to be stopped.'

Knowing the truth of her assumptions, Harry lowered his gaze and started to walk on.

'But, Harry . . . why did you do that if you didn't want to?'

'I don't know,' he growled under his breath, and stalked off.

He was already dreading the double Potions lesson that he had that afternoon.

*~*

Harry sat next to Hermione in the back row of the Potions classroom. His mouth was dry and his hands were shaking – who knew what Professor Snape would try?

The lesson began with the theory of the potion they were going to be brewing – a simple enough potion for calming. This passed without much event, from Harry's point of view – he kept his gaze locked on his parchment, writing every word that escaped Snape's mouth. He'd never been such an attentive student.

And then Snape set them all to the making of the potion – as the ingredients were laid out ready for them, Harry did not have to approach the front of the classroom and simply stayed at his desk, adding ingredients, stirring and heating as the recipe required.

The lesson was soon almost over, and Harry was very relieved. As he added his cats-claw bark, however, he noticed that his potion was not the light blue of Hermione's, but a gloopy yellow gunk.

He wasn't going to draw Snape's attention to it, however – he tried to get Hermione's attention, to ask her what he'd done wrong, but as he turned to her, he heard a voice like an icy blast behind him.

'Make a . . . miscalculation, Potter?'

Harry's entire body froze. His teacher's voice was quiet – unusual, as he would normally have taken joy in sharing his least-favourite pupil's misfortunes with the rest of the class. The only other person who seemed to be aware of his presence at the back of the classroom was Hermione – who seemed to be paying even more attention than usual to her potion.

Snape came even closer behind Harry, looking over the boy's shoulder and into the cauldron.

'Stirred three times clockwise, I see . . . I seem to recall you having a better . . . grasp of the ways of the world than that, Potter.'

This was nothing more than a whisper, a breath of air brushing Harry's ear.

Snape stepped even closer, reaching across Harry and placing his hand over the boy's on the stirring rod in the cauldron. Cold, thin fingers laced through warm teenage ones, palm tight against back of hand.

As Snape moved both their arms as one, he pressed his whole body into Harry's back, and whispered, slowly, 'anti . . . clock . . . wise'.

All of a sudden, the older man seemed to remember himself and, stepping swiftly away from Harry, knocking his cauldron onto the floor.

The whole class turned to look as he said, disdainfully, 'Oh, do clear that up, Potter. The rest of you – in flagons, on my desk, be gone in five minutes.'

And he glided out of the classroom into his chamber.

Harry, of course, was left clearing up the mess he had made long after the rest of the class had disappeared. Hermione, who would normally have waited for him, seemed in a great rush to get away.

As he mopped up the last few splashes of spilt potion, Harry saw a shadow move across the ground and come to rest over him. Looking ever-so-slightly up, he saw a pair of naked feet and ankles, and then the hem of a shiny black robe with green and silver stitching.

He stood up, quickly, putting the cloth down on the table, and edging his way around his satin-clad obstruction.

'I – I've got a lot of prep tonight, sir.'

Snape slid into Harry's way, hands on the desk, one either side of the boy, trapping him.

'Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure,' he said, kissing Harry's neck.

'Really sir, I,'

'No-one's going to find us here, if that's what you're worried about.'

Unbuttoning robes. Cold hands running over naked neck and shoulders. Soft kisses on unblemished flesh.

'Sir, I really, I don't think,'

Re-buttoning of robes, trying to back away, finding strong wooden desk in resistance

'Nonsense, boy, no-one is asking you to _think!'_

Shoulders roughly grabbed, a fiercely possessive kiss, hands wandering, wandering,

'Stop!' A slight falsetto, a slight suggestion that the wandering hands had wandered too far – too near.

Harry fought his way out of Professor Snape's grasp, racing out of the classroom, running straight into Draco Malfoy.


	5. 'seduction'

'Potter, Potter, Potter. What have we been up to?'

Harry glared at Malfoy. He'd had enough to deal with that day, without this bully making his life misery as well.

'Nothing that has anything to do with you, Malfoy.'

'On the contrary, Potter, I think it has everything to do with me. After all, I have the pictures.'

Wild panic coursed through Harry, as he realised what would happen if anyone were to find out about his inexplicable actions.

'Then give them to me, Malfoy. There's laws about that kind of thing – privacy and stuff.'

'Oh, and who are you going to report me to? Dumbledore? "Oh, Mister Dumbledore Sir, Malfoy has pictures of me sucking off my sworn enemy and general head of Evil at Hogwarts!" Imagine how well that would go down with your little . . . friends.'

'Oh, shut up and give it to me, Malfoy.'

'Gladly,' thought Draco.

'No chance, Potter. I'm going to blow this photo up so big it can be seen from space. And fix it to the Dining Hall ceiling.'

'You don't know how.'

'I wouldn't count on that if I were you . . .'

'What do you want, Malfoy?'

'Nothing you could give me, I'm quite sure.'

Harry turned in frustration and stalked off down the corridor. Draco lost his cool, just for a moment, as he sprinted to catch up with him. Standing in front of Harry, he said,

'There is one way . . . I'd give you all the pictures I have of what you did to Snape, for you to dispose of as you wish.'

Harry stopped. This had better be good – in that moment, he was willing to do anything so his reputation would not be spoilt, so that he would still be seen as the shining example of Gryffindor virtue and power – the hero – for the whole school. 

'I didn't do anything to him – you saw him, he just trapped me, I ran away!'

'It didn't happen quite like that last night, now, did it?'

Harry froze. How did Draco know about that? He was done for! If _anyone_ were to find out about that . . . and with moving wizard photographs blown up to the size of the Great Hall ceiling, they were bound to . . . 

Realising his situation was helpless, trying to regulate his breathing, Harry pushed past Draco and ran away.

Before he had taken three steps, Draco called after him:

'Come now, Potter. I did sat there was one way in which I might be willing to forget everything that you did to Professor Snape.'

Harry froze. Turned as in slow motion.

'How?'

'You could do it to me.'

'You're despicable, Malfoy.'

'Ooh, say that again, I get tingles all up my spine!'

'No, you're worse than that . . . you're _evil.'_

'God, Potter, you really know how to turn a guy on, you know that?'

Harry was trapped; he knew it. With a death glare at the pale slip of a girly-boy in front of him, he dropped to his knees in the middle of the Potions corridor.

As he reached out to unbutton the boy's robes, Draco brought the palm of his hand down in a great slap across the left side of Harry's face.

'Not here, you moron, do you want to get caught at this as well?

Harry kept his silence, jumping to his feet and backing away to the wall opposite.

'Come to the Slytherin common room at midnight tonight.'

'I – I don't know where that is.'

'The Dark Arts classroom, then. That's not too far from either of us. Midnight. I'd suggest you come. I know I will.'

And with that, Draco turned on his heel, robes swishing in a creditable facsimile of Professor Snape, and stalked away.


End file.
